


The Beginning Of A Beautiful Friendship.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Child Soldiers, How Aral Vorkosigan Got His Scar, Implied Torture, Time Period: Reign of Ezar Vorbarra, Winterfair Open Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:52:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aral Vorkosigan is thirteen years old and strange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beginning Of A Beautiful Friendship.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Aral and Ges immediately after Yuri's war. Aral adjusts to life without war. Ges is present, watching, participating, and perhaps envious." from т*Лариен in the 2011 Winterfair Open Exchange.
> 
>  
> 
> [Russian translation!](http://www.diary.ru/~jetta-e/p140691947.htm) :D :D :D

Aral Vorkosigan is thirteen years old and strange.

There are a lot of ways Ges could have ended that sentence, he thinks, studying Aral from across the room, chin resting in his palms. Aral Vorkosigan is thirteen years old and a soldier. Aral Vorkosigan is thirteen years old and a vassal secundus to the Emperor.

Aral Vorkosigan is thirteen years old and he's killed a man.

Ges licks his lips. He wants to ask, what was it like, did it feel good, do you want to do it again. But he can't ask the last, because the dust has barely settled on Ezar's reign yet. And he can't ask the first, not really, not _yet_ , because yesterday Aral punched Rulf Vorhalas, the idiot, for asking him the same thing.

Instead of asking, Ges decides to be obnoxious. He stands up. He walks behind Aral. And then he stands there for four heartbeats, not moving.

Sure enough, Aral twitches. He turns around, already snarling. Ges gives him a shining smile.

"Apple?" Ges asks him blandly, and holds out his hand.

"Vorrutyers," Aral says to himself. Then, a little quieter, "unfailingly crazy," as if trying to classify the threat using old data stored in a forgotten memory. He murmurs something softer to himself that Ges can't hear, and then turns around deliberately.

And if Aral's even more tense than he was before, well, no, of course everyone notices. It's hard not to notice Aral Vorkosigan. Little Lord Vorkosigan, the spare, the survivor. The great general's son, who had been allowed to fight on the front lines, not kept to the back like Ges had been. The old prince's grandson, doted on and taught to be his grandfather's spy.

Aral Vorkosigan, the one who had been Yuri's hostage, at the last. The one who had distracted Yuri long enough for Ezar's forces to make their final maneuvers, the one who had a shiny new scar on his face for his efforts, for his sacrifice. The one who tried to kill Yuri all by himself when he tried to disembowel him when he was only supposed to tease. Ruthless, beautiful Aral Vorkosigan.

Ruthless, beautiful Aral Vorkosigan who has a better claim on the throne than the Emperor, a toddling cousin who lives with him who also has a better claim on the throne than the Emperor, and has bloodied Prince Xav wrapped around his finger. The only way it could get better than that is if the old general were dead and little Aral Vorkosigan were little Count Vorkosigan, under the Prince and the Emperor's protection, and grief-struck. But that can wait on time; Ges is nothing if not patient. Meticulous. Well, he's not right now. But he'll learn to be. The prize is worth it.

Aral Vorkosigan. Ruthless, beautiful, and well-connected. He's exactly what Ges's father-the-Count is talking about when he talks about picking the right side and picking it early. How even a younger son, the third of five, could rise to the top, by choosing early and choosing well. And Aral's properly vicious, too, none of that weak Betan blood showing up in _him_.

"Loyal Vorrutyers," Ges sing-songs. "Don't forget."

"Loyal _crazy_ Vorrutyers," Aral mutters. "You picked the right side by flipping a coin."

Ges does his best to look indignant, because he knows Aral is watching him through his reflection. There's no way Aral would turn his back and keep it turned against a real threat. No Vor would ever be that stupid. "Pierre le Sanguinaire is rolling in his grave right now and he doesn't even know why."

Aral snorts rudely. He goes back to picking at his food. Well, two can be rude. Ges pulls out one of the many empty chairs surrounding Aral and straddles it. He crosses his arms and tilts his head, resting his cheek on the old, weary wood. He assesses Aral.

"So, Lord Vorkosigan," Ges says, because if there's anything that will get Aral to talk to Ges instead of just talking to himself, that's it.

Sure enough, Aral actually flinches. "Cadet Vorkosigan, if you please," Aral corrects him. "That's _disgusting_."

"Premature," Ges says. "By a day, maybe two. The Emperor is going to call the Council to order tomorrow, you know. Get used to it."

"I never will," Aral says, but he's back to talking to the ghost of his brother. It's a major weakness, Ges thinks, annoyed. Every single cadet has caught Aral doing it at one time or another in the week since the Academy re-opened. It's very dangerous, Ges decides, and Aral needs to stop it immediately. Aral's underestimating their classmates, and that's stupid and dangerous. They're the post-war class, filled with veterans and younger brothers of dead soldiers. They're the first new cadets to enter these halls in two years, and they're all young enough to be in the preparatory academy right now if that hadn't been bombed to ruins in the early days, if the idea of preparing potential soldiers for future admittance to the Academy wasn't such an obscene joke after the majority of the Academy cadets had died in the first fourteen months of the war. And just because they're younger by far than the last class that entered two years ago, barely a month before Yuri sent the death squads, doesn't mean they're stupid. Doesn't mean they can't exploit a weakness. And Aral's weaknesses are Ges's to exploit. They're cousins. Ges's oldest brother died in the first salvo, in Piotr Vorkosigan's first attack on Yuri's forces, and Ges's father and Richars had been there by his side, and Ges's father had walked away and Piotr Vorkosigan had walked away and Aral Vorkosigan had walked away, but Richars hadn't.

And just because their class is made up of babies, as the returning cadets, few and far between, are saying loudly at every opportunity, doesn't mean that they aren't cadets, too. Two years later, and the returning cadets are returning two years older and battle-blooded, but Ges's class are the ones who matter. They're the ones with Aral Vorkosigan. They fought the war, too. Even if they were just stuck to the back, like Ges, doing nothing but taking care of the wounded, not allowed to fight.

"For definitions of never that are pretty short," Ges says, and Aral shoots to his feet in a rage and kicks Ges's chair over backwards. Ges, seeing it coming, is very careful not to flinch.

"I don't," Aral growls, "like being poked, Vorrutyer."

"So noted," Ges says, and rolls to a crouch and then stands up. He makes a show of brushing his shoulders clean.

He doesn't let himself grin, but he marks it off in his head. That's one immediately enraged reaction to keep an eye on. He'll figure out the rest soon enough. And then he'll know how to handle Aral, and they can progress from there.

Their future together is going to be _wonderful_.


End file.
